


Begin to Make It Better

by Lynx22281



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 2014!Cas, 2014!Dean, Birth, End!verse, M/M, Mpreg, Pregnant Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-20
Updated: 2013-11-20
Packaged: 2018-01-02 04:34:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1052581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lynx22281/pseuds/Lynx22281
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A new Winchester comes into a rough world</p>
            </blockquote>





	Begin to Make It Better

**Author's Note:**

> I usually stay away from end!verse fics because they're always soooo depressing. But this idea wormed its way into my head and I had to write it down. I was inspired by [diminuel's end!verse mpreg!cas fan art on tumblr](http://diminuel.tumblr.com/post/67501510070/endverse-mpreg-anyone).

Castiel bites down on his bottom lip to keep from calling out as pain tears through his middle. He doesn't want to call attention to his isolated corner of the compound, but as the hours pass and the pain grows he fears his ability to keep his agony to himself is slipping away.

 

He made a promise to Dean seven months ago.

 

_"Cas, you gotta get rid of it,” he commands._

_"I can't." No other soul would have gone against an order from Dean. There’s no room for disobedience in their world._

_"This ain't no place to have a kid."_

_Cas just stares miserably at the threadbare rug he sits on, fighting off another wave of nausea._

_"We need you, man. You can't be out of commission just because some idiot knocked you up."_

_Castiel smirks to himself, not looking up. The idiot is standing right in front of him. His orgies are legendary throughout the camp, but he never indulges in anything more than handjobs and blowjobs with the other members. Dean is his one exception._

_His leader sighs and kneels down next to him. Castiel watches Dean reach for him and then pull back at the last second. His voice is soft and pleading when he continues. "We can't lose you."_

_Jane, one of their original members, had gotten pregnant late last year and died during a miscarriage. The six-month-old fetus had been horribly deformed. Shortly after, heavily pregnant Lizzie had been taken in by the group and delivered a still-born infant who had similar deformities. The mother died several hours after the long, difficult birth. Since that time, all of the women in the group, regardless of age, have gone through menopause. The best guess is that Famine is affecting fertility._

_"I can take care of myself, Dean."_

 

So, he's taking care of himself, just like he promised. He won't be a bother to anybody. He won't take anybody away from their duties.

 

He blows out a harsh breath as the pain eases. His hands move soothingly over his belly.

 

Dean and a handful of the others are out on a supply run. They have to go further and further out from camp to find new places to raid and it now takes two full days to complete the trip. Risa is in charge while they are out and it’s well known to everybody that Dean's second-in-command has no love for the fallen angel. She had always been jealous of the bond between the two men, jealous that while Dean frequented her bed it was never for more than a few hours. Up until Castiel got pregnant, their fearless leader spent all his downtime with him. Risa thought she'd hit the jackpot when Dean showed up at her cabin one night and didn't leave, but she quickly learned that she's just a consolation prize. When Dean left his bed, Castiel left the cabin they'd shared. He couldn't stand to be surrounded by Dean's scent after his abandonment.

 

In the 14 hours since his labor started, he hasn't been bothered. Not a single person has checked on him. Not that he expected any of them to. They've all given him a wide berth since his belly started ballooning under his shirt. The world is weird enough without a pregnant man-who-used-to-be-an-angel walking around. The only person who has regularly poked his head through Castiel's door from time to time is Chuck, but the writer had decided at the last minute to go with the supply team. He wouldn’t be a bit surprised if Risa had ordered the others to stay away from his cabin.

 

Castiel continues his aimless pacing, wearing a track in the thin rug that covers the roughhewn wood floor. There is only enough space to walk five paces from the mattress pushed into one corner of the room to the door on the opposite wall and five paces back, but he's sure he has walked dozens of miles, five paces at a time, in the crowded little space he now occupies by himself.

 

Supplies are limited, but over the last few months Castiel has managed to horde things in preparation for giving birth. He's procured a camp stove that is currently set up by the front door with a pot full of water, ready to be boiled, sitting on its single burner. A plastic shower curtain is spread out over the mattress to keep his bed clean and dry. Scissors, a ball of strong cotton twine, and a package of sanitary napkins wait in a stainless steel bowl on top of the old steamer trunk by the side of the bed. He has half a dozen soft, clean towels stacked next to the bowl. The baby clothes, cloth diapers, bottles, and few toys that have mysteriously appeared outside his door after every supply run for the past three months are squirrelled away in the trunk. The small wooden cradle that had been waiting for him by the door one morning sits patiently at the foot of the bed

 

He pauses at the window by the door. Its sill is at just the right height for him to lean his elbows against as another pain pulls his belly taut. He grunts, surprised when this contraction brings with it the uncontrollable urge to bare down even though his water hasn’t broken yet. Castiel pushes as the pain swells. Pushing brings a strange relief, though he can tell that his effort isn't having much effect yet. When the pain releases its hold on him, he awkwardly bends over to light the camp stove, dumping the twine and scissors in the pot to sterilize. Then, he strips out of his clothes to kneel on the bed, pressing his hands forward against the wall for support. The shower curtain crinkles annoyingly under his knees.

 

Castiel pushes for nearly an hour, and nothing happens.

 

Panic builds in his chest. The pains are one on top of another with only the briefest of pauses inbetween. This is how Lizzie's delivery ended; the child got stuck in her pelvis and their only physician had to use forceps to get it out. If he can’t push the baby out on his own, there’s nobody to turn to for help. Doc Johnson died a month ago.

 

Castiel claws at the wall, unable to get away from the agonizing pain and fear gripping his whole being. He does the only thing he can think to do - he prays to his absent Father.

 

He begs for his baby to live. He pleads for Dean to come back safely. He asks for Dean to love their child. He prays for this torture to be over. He bargains his life for his baby’s.

 

The contraction continues to build and his body takes over, no longer needing any conscious direction. He cries out as the baby's head pushes against his opening, stretching the swollen flesh. Panting heavily, he curls forward and bears down harder, feeling the head inch slowly into the outside world. After another surge down, the head is fully out. The child twists inside of him, making his belly undulate with its movements. He reaches down to cup around the head and help guide the rest of the baby’s body.

 

With one final push, his child slides into his hands.

 

Silence. Stillness. Peace.

 

Castiel stares down at the squished little face looking up at him. The baby, his son, is covered in a thin membrane. Being born in the caul has long been considered lucky by humans. He quickly sloughs off the remainder of the sac that protected his child for the past nine months. The baby's chest expands as he fills his lungs with his first breath and he lets loose a lusty wail that fills the space of the cabin with a sound more beautiful to Castiel than the Host singing in Heaven.

 

He brings the slippery baby up to his chest, clutching him close and sobbing in relief that his little boy is perfect, healthy, and whole. A head full of dark, wet hair, ten little fingers curled up in two angry fists, ten perfectly formed tiny toes, two arms and two legs kicking and flailing energetically, and two flawlessly functioning lungs.

 

After only a few minutes reprieve, the afterpains begin, spurring Castiel back to action. He delivers the placenta into the metal bowl, covering it with a towel and setting it by the door after tying off and cutting the umbilical cord. For the first time all day, he wishes someone was by his side. Laboring alone hadn’t been lonely, but now he has no one to share his joy and help take care of his tired body.

 

Wearily, he washes himself and the baby, and pulls the soiled shower curtain from the mattress. When the cleanup is finished, he settles down on the bed with his son tucked into the bend of his elbow and unwraps a protein bar to eat, suddenly starving. The boy roots against this father's chest until he finds a puffy nipple to latch onto. The initial suckling sensation makes Castiel wince, but he soon finds it relaxing.

 

After they've both finished their post-birth snacks, Castiel gazes down at his son, letting tiny fingers grip his thumb. Here is Earth's newest life, one created against all odds from a profound bond of soul-deep love. His tears baptize the downy locks covering the baby’s scalp. The promise of a better future, to the end of the apocalypse, sleeps soundly in the arms of a fallen angel.

 

*****

 

Hours later, just as the sky begins to lighten with the coming dawn, Castiel wakes, curled on his side under mounds of warm blankets. He had fallen asleep with his hand resting on the baby's belly and now finds his hand resting flat on the mattress. Gasping, he jerks upright fearing that he has smothered the child in his sleep or that the boy has somehow tumbled off the mattress.

 

A dark figure stands at the window. Castiel reaches for the pistol wedged between the bed and the wall, but a voice stops him.

 

"Cas," Dean says, his voice breaking as he turns. Their son is bundled up, safe and still asleep, in the hunter's arms.

 

Castiel carefully pushes himself up to sit at the head of the bed. Dean crosses the five steps from the window over to the mattress on the floor and slowly kneels down.

 

The green-eyed man hands the boy back to his father. "That's a handsome little guy you've got, Cas."

 

"Yeah," he whispers on a sigh as he settles the baby against his bare chest. "He gets it from his handsome dad."

 

Several quiet seconds pass while the two men watch the sleeping newborn.

 

"He's yours, you know."

 

"Are you sure?"

 

"Dean." Castiel lifts his eyes to find the hunter watching him. Uncertainty mixed with hope has cracked his usual mask of hardened determination. His dark eyes glitter with tears. For the first time in years, Castiel gets a glimpse of the man he saved from Hell, the man who claimed his Grace and his heart. "There's never been anyone else."

 

Dean clambers onto the bed pulling his angel and their son close, weeping without restraint. He whispers between sobs and kisses pressed against the crown of Castiel’s head, "You're ok. You're both ok."

 

They cling to each other until the baby starts to cry and Castiel leans back to settle him at his chest to nurse. Dean keeps one hand against the boy's back, helping support his tiny weight.

 

"What are you going to name him?" He roughly rubs at his eyes with his free hand.

 

"Robert Samuel," Castiel replies gently. "We'll call him Robbie."

 

Dean's breathing hitches. He doesn’t say anything right away, but when he does his voice is thick with emotion. He reaches out to stroke the baby’s pudgy little cheek with his index finger. “Hey, Robbie. I’m your dad and I’m gonna take real good care of you, buddy. You and your papa.”

 

Castiel smiles softly, knowing that Dean's just as in love with their little one as he is.

 

Things aren't magically better between them, but he hopes that Robbie will help heal some of the hurt they've done to each other, hopes that family will bring Dean back to him.


End file.
